


John's Stopped Pretending and Just Gone On With Things

by CaptainDog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, minimal angst, post-TGG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2011-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:17:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDog/pseuds/CaptainDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pool knocks some sense into John. Or maybe out of him.  Awkwardness and fluff ensue.  A series of snapshots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John's Stopped Pretending and Just Gone On With Things

Life is too short to carry around secrets that keep hurting you. That's what John Watson decided in the ambulance after the pool incident. Sherlock stayed by his side, and he realised that that's all he ever wanted. To be side by side with the genius madman. Well, no, he'd realised it ages ago. But he'd kept it locked up, chained inside a small cell of his brain, never to surface. Bollocks. As if Sherlock couldn't deduce it, anyway. As he drifted into unconsciousness, he murmured, “I love you.” He had no idea if Sherlock heard, and he didn't much care. The point was that he'd said it. He'd be saying it again soon enough, anyway.

 _*_

Sarah visited him in the hospital. With his newfound straightforward courage, he told her that he was in love with someone else.  
“You're in _love_ with him? I knew you were close, but...”

“Yes. Have been for a while. I'm sorry I've been leading you on. I'm sure he's not interested, so if you still want-”

“No,” She raised her hands. “I can't do that. I deserve better.” John smiled.

“Yes, you do. Thanks.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, and then Sarah changed the subject.

 _*_

Life was almost back to normal at 221b once John was released. Sherlock was more on edge due to his obsession with finding Moriarty. And John was more relaxed. Which put Sherlock more on edge.

“I'm going out.” John called as he slipped his coat on. Sherlock's head snapped up from the book he was reading.  
“Where?”  
“Supermarket. Coffee shop. Anything you want?”

“No. Just be careful.” John rolled his eyes. He had refused to live in paranoia of being kidnapped again. And he was probably under so much Mycroft-related surveillance that it didn't matter anyway.

“See you, then. I love you.” He slipped out the door before he could see Sherlock's reaction. Sherlock didn't mention it when he returned.

 _*_

“Why are you staring like that?” Sherlock asked. John hadn't really realised that he'd been watching Sherlock from across the room. He'd stopped chastising himself for doing it by now.

“I like watching you.” he said and sipped his tea. Sherlock studied him for a moment.

“You like watching me.”

“Yes. I'll stop if it really makes you uncomfortable.”

“No it's...it's fine.” Sherlock gave him a suspicious look and bent over again to tend to a petri dish. Needless to say, John continued watching.

 _*_

Sherlock finally confronted John. It was actually later than John would have expected.

“Sit down, will you?”

“Sure.” John sat.

“For two weeks now, you've...well, been-”

“Open about my love for you?” It took Sherlock a moment to recover.

“Yes. Well. That's rather bluntly put, yes.”

“That's sort of the point.” Sherlock closed his eyes, clearly searching for words. John felt a stab of sympathy; he knew that Sherlock struggled with interpersonal relationships, and knew that this couldn't be easy for him. He might as well be as direct as possible, though. And patient.

“John, erm, you do remember that I...I'm not looking for any kind of...”

“Yes, married to your work and all that, I remember.”

“I just need to know...what are you...expecting of me? From this.” Sherlock gestured at John, trying to encompass the situation with his hands.

“If there's one thing I've learned about you,” John said, smiling. “it's that you are unpredictable. I try not to expect anything.”

Sherlock looked like he shared the same sentiment about John.

“Then you don't...won't...”

“I won't do anything you don't want me to, Sherlock. You'll just have to live with me pining after you, that's all.”

“I don't want you to pine, John.”

“Bit late, there. Sorry.” Sherlock clasped his hands together.

“Well. That's...settled, then. As settled as it's going to be, anyway.”

“S'pose so.”

Sherlock stood and quickly left the room. He didn't act any different around John after that, but John still caught him watching as he read the paper or made tea. As if he were waiting for John to throw everything down and attack him. John ignored it.

 _*_

Sherlock slammed the cupboard door shut and whipped his head around to face John. John almost stumbled backwards at the sudden and random movement.

“Why do you keep saying that you love me?” John looked up at his rather intense expression and smiled.

“Because I do.” Sherlock scowled.

“Do you even know what that means?”

“Yes. Do you?” It was Sherlock's turn to falter. He glanced around, as if the words he needed would be floating in the air around his head.

“You don't have to answer that.” John said. “Just think about it.”

 _*_

“I could go for some Italian. You?” John hit the 'enter' key with a decisive _click_. Case closed, blog updated, time to eat.

“Angelo's?” Sherlock asked, already donning his coat.

“Sounds lovely. Haven't been there in ages.” John stood up to follow.

They sat near the back of the restaurant this time, Sherlock's favourite spot when he wasn't on a stake-out. It was dark and corner-y enough to be comfortably private, but still had an excellent view of the other diners. Angelo, as per usual, came to their table personally to clap Sherlock on the shoulder and give his recommendations. Sherlock ordered for the both of them. Angelo swooped back with their drinks and a candle – he never failed to bring one to add to the romantic mood, no matter how many times John complained. John opened his mouth to protest yet again, but felt a sharp kick to his shin. He looked up, but Sherlock's face was completely impassive. Angelo left the candle and bustled away. They discussed only the case for the rest of the evening.

 _*_

“John, I need you to stay here. Mrs. Clemens will be back within the hour, and I need you to distract her while I interrogate Mr. Clemens.”

“Right.” said John. “So, should I make her tea, or what?”

“Whatever you can think of. Don't let her leave the flat until I text, got it?”

“Sure.” Sherlock threw his scarf around his neck and made for the door. He paused on his way out.

“I'm going, then.”

“See you in a bit. I-”

“Love you.” Sherlock finished for him. John gaped. Sherlock smiled and disappeared from the flat.

 _*_

“Hhhnnn?” John sat up in bed, dim light from the hall silhouetting the man in the doorway. The tall frame and disheveled hair could only have been his flatmate.

“Sherlock? What'sit?” John glanced at his clock. Just after midnight. “There a murder or something?” Sherlock shook his head and slowly entered the room. He seemed to be calculating his steps very carefully. His dressing gown had slipped off one bare shoulder. He seemed to be wearing only shorts under it. He reached the edge of John's bed.

“What's up, Sherlock?”  
“Don't...don't say anything.” Sherlock whispered. The mattress dipped a little under his weight. John bit his lip to keep from asking what was going on. His pale finger, skeletal in the weak light, slid across the sheets and plucked at the hem. Hesitant. John got the message and pushed them down and away so that Sherlock could slip under. They were both asleep within minutes. A nose-full of Sherlock's hair was the best thing he'd ever woken to. So far, of course.

 _*_

“There's a digestive system in the fridge.”

John didn't look away from the television. “I'd noticed. Thank you for labelling it.”

“You're not bothered?”

“I'm used to it. And I didn't confuse it for something edible, thanks to the label. That was very sweet of you.” He heard Sherlock scoff at being called 'sweet', but he'd have bet his good shoulder that he was blushing at least a little.

When he next walked into the kitchen, John found that everything relating to an experiment had a small piece of paper taped to it, labelled in Sherlock's spiky handwriting. He said nothing, but let Sherlock test several chemicals on his hair without complaint. Even when he ended up with a very neon green patch near the back of his head.

 _*_

 _...and believe me to be, my dear friend, very sincerely yours, Sherlock Holmes._

 _*_

“Sorry. I didn't think you'd actually _faint._ ”

“Dammit.” John said, rubbing his head and sitting up. “You realise that you've turned me into a swooning romance novel heroine?”

“I thought it was the other way round.”

“C'mere, you idiot. I have to make sure that I'm not hallucinating.”

Three years had not changed the feel of Sherlock's lips.

 _*_

“Genius!” John exclaimed as Sherlock straightened up. Lestrade sent him an amused look.

“After all this time, and you still say things like that to him.”

“It's true, isn't it?”

“Yeah, I guess it is. Is it really good to stroke his ego like that, though?” John laughed.

“Probably isn't, but I do it anyway.”

“John, shut up and do something useful, would you?” John grinned and rolled his eyes. He hadn't missed the pinkish hue that Sherlock's cheeks had turned.

“God, and you're still acting like a married couple.” Lestrade chortled.

“And why shouldn't we?” Sherlock said, making a grab for John's hand. He held the hand up to display the ring finger. “Although it's 'civil partners', if you want to be technical.” When Lestrade could finally speak again, he asked, “Why wasn't I invited?”

“Private affair. Still have enemies who could exploit it, you know.” John elbowed Sherlock companionably.

“And yet Mycroft was a witness.”

“A necessary evil.”

“As sweet as this is, could we maybe solve this murder?” Lestrade said.

“It was her friend from America. Honestly, his cipher is downright juvenile.”

Sherlock swept away, John on his arm.

*

“John! John I'm dying! _Dying!_ ”

“Any allergy symptoms?” John ran over to examine the reddened bump on Sherlock's arm and make sure that his throat hadn't begun to swell up.

“I don't think so.” It was fairly clear that he was not, but John would keep an eye on him for a while, just in case.

“Calm down, I'll get some aloe vera lotion.” He pushed Sherlock into a chair and went to the overstocked medicine cabinet.

“Hold _still_ , will you?” Which was like asking a fish to stop using its gills, but John could try. He pulled a credit card from his wallet and used it to scrape the sting from under Sherlock's skin. He started rubbing the lotion over the afflicted area.

“Ouch! Careful!”

“There, now. All better. Need me to kiss it?” Sherlock stared at him. John shrugged and kissed it anyway. “Honestly, only _you_ would make such a fuss over a bee sting.” Sherlock sniffed haughtily.

“I did not make a _fuss_.”

“Whatever you say. I think you just like being doctored.”

“The supers are starting to fill up.”

“Good. How're the Carniolans?”

“Doesn't look like they're likely to swarm. I found the queen.”

“See? I told you you could take care of something.”

“I take care of you, don't I?”

“Have you eaten today?”

“Shut up.”


End file.
